by Rowan macdonald
She grips the steering wheel of her ‘82 Subaru wagon, the one covered in surf brand decals that she got cheap in the local Trading Post. To grip the wheel any harder, would run the risk of the whole thing falling apart. It would be fitting; another thing falling apart. Instead, she removes her hands and stares straight ahead. Green boobialla bushes stare right back, unmoved by her emotion, undisturbed by ocean winds that have battered them for generations. They remain when all else crumbles. They provide shelter, the refuge that penguins and mutton birds seek from violent seas. They protect and weather the storms.
She catches glimpse of her reflection in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes are sunken from sleepless nights, her skin drawn and cheekbones protruding. Her tongue clicks anxiously against the roof of her mouth, a dark dress making her uncomfortable in the rising heat. She curses the bright calmness of the day. If there was swell, she could at least drag herself from the car. It would be an excuse, a reason not to attend.
Why did this happen? Was it punishment for past sins? Her head rests against the hot steering wheel, pondering these questions, never obtaining the answer she seeks. Fingers dance over her phone; their album, a gateway to further pain and torment.
A sigh. A deep breath. A primal scream that only seagulls can hear.
***
The car flies down the highway, fields and sheep passing by, the historic winery creeping into view.
She parks the old Subaru among the Mercedes and BMWs glistening under the coastal sun. She watches the crowd of people filing into white chairs, neatly arranged on the green lawn. Maybe it’s not too late?
Events from the past collide into present. She imagines the service and the pause in proceedings – her moment.
“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” they will say.
Her mind drifts to the happiness, and good times, followed by the sadness, and cheating.
She lights a cigarette, opens the window and stares at the white ribbons flickering in the sea breeze. She laughs at this new life; one that feels like a birthday sweater from her grandmother that doesn’t quite fit.
And then she realizes something. They deserve each other.
The past is over and no longer exists. The future is unwritten. All she has is this moment, and she reverses out of the carpark. Driving along the highway, she returns to the boobialla bushes and the sea, for it’s her home, the place to cleanse her of the past. It is the medicine she requires to start over.
Ocean waves lap against the hem of her dress and she smiles, knowing everything will be okay.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rowan MacDonald lives with his dog, Rosie. His writing has previously appeared in The Ocotillo Review, The Ignatian Literary Magazine, Black Fork Review, White Wall Review, Miracle Monocle, Poor Yorick and elsewhere. His work has also been adapted into short film by New Form Digital.
ABOUT THE ARTIST
Kelsey Erica Tran is an aspiring photographer and poet. Studying photography for two years in high school, she developed a passion for the art and hopes to turn it into a future career. Her first piece “Illuminate” was published in Apricity Magazine.